Snapshots
by cranberrysoup
Summary: Seifer is stationed in Galbadia for Christmas. post-game S/S


This is something I've been meaning to write for quite some time. It was meant to be a birthday present for VictimOfCircumstance back in March, but... well, I suck. So it's a Christmas present instead. Hooray! This is for you, dear.

I'll admit right now that I'm fairly unfamiliar with the FFVIII fandom. Forgive me if I make any errors concerning the facts- I was really making it up as I went along. It's not the best thing I've ever written, either, and it's a bit rough, but I was too afraid to stop once I'd finally gotten started so I'll post it as-is rather than risk spending nine more months editing it to death.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownage.

-

Seifer Almasy slammed the door to his temporary room in the Galbadian SeeD barracks, nearly breaking the rotting piece of wood off its rusted hinges in the process. Fuming, he glared around the pitiful excuse for a captain's lodgings as he stalked over to the too-small bed and flopped down with a frustrated sigh. The room was part of a cramped, leaky section of the barracks that had seen better days; he was its only present inhabitant. The Galbadian Director of Foreign Affairs had claimed upon his arrival that he was "sure to be more comfortable in a military setting," and then shunned him to this isolated corner of the military sector with a wave of that bony white hand. Seifer snorted. He was nearly positive that it had taken several threatening phone calls from the Headmaster of Balamb Garden to convince the weaselly old man to agree to provide lodging and three square meals a day for the former delinquent blond at all.

Seifer felt himself relax a bit as his thoughts turned to the Headmaster. Squall. _His_ Squall. He still didn't know why his coffee-haired lover had insisted that he act as the formal guard on this diplomatic trip. It seemed like the very opposite of diplomacy, sending one of the World's Most Hated Men along for peace talks. But Squall had insisted, and the Headmaster's word was Law so Seifer had grudgingly agreed to the mind-numbingly dull mission of Standing There and Looking Tough.

This mission was taking more out of Seifer that he'd expected, though. It had taken all of his self-control and a little more to keep his mouth shut through the first regimen of "talks." Side comments and snide remarks had been shot at him relentlessly through the careful masks of diplomatic civility, and by the end he was just itching to punch some of those haughty bureaucrats in the gut. What with the spiteful comments and the dumpy abandoned barracks, the Galbadians' message had become clear: the Traitor was not welcome here.

Well, they could suck it. Seifer didn't want to be here any more than they wanted him around. It was cold outside, and snowy down here on the surface. He longed to be back up in the Garden, cozy and comfortable with his brown-haired lover in their shared apartment suite, drinking brandy by the fire and toasting in the holidays with their usual comfortable silence. Permitting, of course, that they weren't partaking in other, more _noisy_ forms of recreation...

Seifer smirked. Squally-boy wasn't much of a talker, but he could sure make some noise, when given the proper... incentive.

But thinking about that would only cause problems that Seifer didn't feel like dealing with. Instead, he pulled himself up into a sitting position so that his legs no longer dangled off the edge of the undersized bed and leaned up against the headboard, kicking off his boots and shedding his jacket. He fumbled around in one of the inner coat pockets for a moment before retrieving a certain item and tossing the garment to the floor.

Clutched in his hand, shiny and small, was a digital camera. At first he had resisted the new technology, since such equipment was completely unrelated to weaponry or armor and was therefore entirely useless, but with enough coaxing from Selphie he had finally caved and gone out to buy one of the damned things. It was surprisingly easy to use, considering all the tiny buttons and ambiguous illustrations and memory cards and batteries and all that technical mumbo jumbo. Selphie had given him the basic tour: press here to take a picture; press here to see it. Use the cord to connect it to the charger so the battery doesn't die. There had been something about another cord and computers and uploading files, but Seifer had stopped paying attention by that point. Whatever, not like he enjoyed having to use computers anyway. Better to just deal with one hunk of overcomplicated metal and plastic.

Carefully, Seifer used the tip of his thumbnail to press the "view pictures" button. A smile. He'd only gotten the chance to try out his new device on the morning before he'd shipped out to this Hyne-forsaken post. It had been an off-day, at least, and miraculously enough it had been a rare break for Squall as well. Now, stuck in a dilapidated barracks and surrounded by people convinced he was some sort of antichrist, remembering that morning was about all Seifer had to keep himself from blowing them all to smithereens and going to spend his Christmas in the damned Garden where at least _some_ people had a little bit of sense. Not that Chicken-wuss really had any sense, but hey, he made a good enough punching bag. It was Squall that really made it all worthwhile.

It was Squall who had first chosen to trust Seifer after everything had gone down; it was Squall who had welcomed him back into the Garden and had him reinstated as a cadet, and then seen that he had every advantage in making it up the chain of command; it was Squall who'd personally appointed him Chief Commander of Securities even despite the flack the Headmaster received from certain officials for his choice; it was Squall who'd helped him to make amends, and it was Squall—_his_ Squall—who appeared on the camera as he pressed the side button that brought his very first picture onto the digital screen.

The Headmaster of Balamb Garden didn't look all too pleased at having his picture taken. He was sitting sideways with one leg tucked under him at the end of their living room couch, silky black robe slipping off his shoulder, tousled hair hanging in his eyes as he sleepily glared at the camera. Seifer grinned. It was amazing what the brunette could communicate without words. Here he encompassed a great deal of "What the hell do you want?" along with a bit of "Get that damn camera out of my face, would you?" But of course the stoic man would never say such things aloud. Seifer pressed the button again.

Squall again, though this time he wasn't looking at the camera. He'd spaced out, tripping around inside that little head of his, thinking about who-knows-what and staying nice and cozy in there until the real world came a-calling again. Usually it was Seifer's job to pull him out of his reveries; it had been that way since forever. Seifer had managed more successfully than most to provoke or irritate the reclusive man into some form of coherent human interaction, be it argument or fighting or the occasional witty banter. He pressed the button a few more times.

A few more pictures of Squall, still daydreaming. This sequence was where Seifer had discovered the "zoom" feature, and taken a few close-ups of the brunette's face. Next came the close-up of Squall once again returning to reality, staring straight at the camera with a look of irritation. A minor scuffle, resulting in a sort of blurry picture of Squall's Griever necklace and a very enjoyable makeout session, during which the camera was momentarily forgotten. This was advantageous for Seifer, since it allowed him to take a picture during said makeout, arm outstretched, eye cracked open as he aimed the camera at himself and his lover.

But the flash had given him away. Another scuffle, this time resulting in a couple pictures of someone's arm, a flash of yellow hair, and it was over. What followed were several pictures of Seifer, taken by a slightly vengeful Squall who'd momentarily liberated the camera. Close-ups, and Seifer looked a bit peeved, but there was a sort of cheerful glow that undermined his glare. No matter how hard he tried to look angry, his gaze was soft. Finally, he'd given up the act completely, and this was the best- Seifer, head tilted back, grinning out of pure enjoyment as he soaked in the glory of morning and sunlight and not being alone.

Then the camera had lain forgotten for awhile, and the next picture was from when Seifer had reclaimed it, tongue stuck out in concentration as he tried to figure out how to turn off the flash while Squall talked, oblivious, as he petted Seifer's hair absentmindedly and gazed out the window.

Next, an overhead shot of Seifer (who'd successfully managed to turn of the flash), long, bare muscled torso stretched out on the couch with his head in Squall's lap, still being petted by his oblivious lover. Dark silk boxers covered the rest of his viewable skin, and Squall's robe had finally slipped completely off his shoulder.

And then a quiet moment, with Squall once again deep inside his head while Seifer pretended to doze in his lap. He was given away by the slit of blue as he peeked in order to aim the camera, but nonetheless he looked completely content.

Then the camera was discovered again, and the largest scuffle yet broke out. A shot of an elbow, a mop of brown hair, a chin, the ceiling... and Seifer paused here. The next picture was the last, and the best. Carefully, he pressed the button.

A smile. Part of it was cut off, and all that was really visible was the lower half of a face and the golden light glinting off of a few stray coffee-colored locks, but it was a real, genuine grin—teeth and all—as the subject struggled with his lover for control of the camera. It was intense, part of an active moment now frozen in time; a relic of something wonderful, something that said "I am here, I am someone, I am happy."

Few people ever saw Squall smile. It wasn't that the Headmaster was an unhappy man; he was just careful with his emotions and where he let them show. But Seifer had proof. Evidence that _he_ had made that- _he_ was responsible for such a rare occurrence, and best of all, _he_ had captured it and put it in an overcomplicated hunk of metal and plastic where it would exist forever and ever, just for him. If everything else in the world went to hell, that would get him by.

Seifer turned off the camera and returned it to the inner pocket of his jacket, still crumpled on the floor. Plopping back down on the rickety bed with a grin, he pulled out his phone and checked the time: 1:08 AM DECEMBER 25. Time to make a call.

He flipped the device open and hit the first speed dial, then pressed the phone to his ear. He listened intently as it rang, counting the rings until-

Click.

"...Hello?"

The voice on the other end was tinny and muffled, and the speaker sounded slightly irritated.

Seifer grinned, easily picturing in his mind the grumpy, sleep-addled look on Squall's face.

"Merry Christmas, babe."


End file.
